Category Archives: My Memoirs

MY FIRST BEST FRIEND, MRS. MCFARLAND

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I grew up in a small town in New Jersey, South Jersey, to be more specific. The town I grew up in was called Maple Shade. I always assumed it was called Maple Shade because of the many Maple trees that grew there from one end of Maple Shade to another.

I believed that Maple Shade was a great place to grow up. Of course, my life experience at nine or ten was somewhat limited. But, as far as I was concerned, it was heaven on earth. Especially in the 1950s through the 1960s when I was growing up.

I clearly remember my mother standing on the street curb outside our house with me by her side, and she was teaching me how to cross the street safely. She said, “Before you cross the street, look to the right and then to the left, and then to the right again. If no cars are coming in either direction, it will be safe to cross the street. She practiced with me several times, and then she said, “You are on your own, be careful. Before you go anywhere, let me know where you are going. Understand?”

“Yes, Mom, I understand, right, left, right, then cross the street.”

“OK, now keep your eyes open, and most of all, don’t be late for lunch or dinner.” And then she went back into the house. I guess she was going to clean the house. That is what she did most of her days unless she was cooking. She did a lot of cooking. We had a big family.

After I crossed the street, I went directly across the street to Mrs McFarland’s yard. She was our neighbor, and I loved her so much. She was really, really old. She lived alone because her husband had died a long time ago. And if she had any children, they had all grown up and moved away. I never met them.

I walked up her path to her side door and knocked. I could hear her walking towards the door. When she opened the door, she said, “Well, isn’t this a nice surprise? Would you like to come in for a snack??? Or we can sit outside on the swing and have our snack?

“Oh, let’s eat on the swing.”

A couple of minutes later, she came out with a tray of milk and cookies. Oh, how I loved her cookies. I hope they were chocolate chip. Mrs. McFarland sat down on the swing and said, “Here we go, your favorite chocolate chip. I smiled from ear to ear. Mrs. McFarland had one whole arm and one-half arm. What I mean is her left arm only went down to her elbow, and the rest of her arm was missing. I was always amazed that she never let that bother her at all. She managed to do everything she had to do with one and a half arms. And her cookies were delicious. Sometimes, she brought her doll outside that she had since she was a kid. And She would let me change her clothes. She told me the doll was made from china, which I didn’t understand. When I asked my father what china was, he told me it was a country very far away. Sometimes, I would bring my doll over and play dolls together. Other times, my best girlfriend brought her doll, and we would all play with dolls.

But what I loved to do the most was walk around her yard, which had flowers growing all over it. But, my favorite flowers grew in the Spring, and she called them tulips. She had red tulips. And they were so beautiful. Sometimes, she let me cut a tulip and take it home to my mother.

While we sat and swung back and forth on the swing, she told me all about herself when she was little. I wished I was little when she was so I could play with her every day. But I guess I was lucky to have her as a friend now. The fact is I really loved Mrs. McFarland. And I didn’t care one bit about her only having one half of an arm. Anytime I saw Mrs. McFarland out in her yard, I went over and visited her. She was my best friend. One day, she said, “How about we walk out to the corner of my yard, and you can try climbing up the tree?”

I screamed at the top of my lungs,” Yes, yes, yes. Let’s”

“Well, I can’t climb the tree, but I’ll stand next to the tree and keep you safe.” And she did. After that, I took every opportunity to climb that tree and any other tree I saw around town. Sometimes, I fell, but I just got black and blue marks on my arms and legs. My mother would say, “What in the world have you been up to?”

“Nothing, Mom, just playing in the tree.”

My mother said, “Well, you have to be more careful. My father said, “Let her be. Kids will be kids.” And so, after that, she would say, be careful. When I was a kid, I would tell my mother that I was going out for a bike ride. She would say, be home in time for lunch. I would listen for the church bells to ring at noon time. We lived two doors down from the Catholic church, and then I would run as fast as I could home. Because if my father was home, it wasn’t a good idea to be late for lunch or dinner. When I got home, I would rush through the front door, and my mother would say, “Go wash your hands and face before you sit down. We almost always had the same thing for lunch every day: Lebanon Bologna sandwiches with chicking noodle soup or sometimes Alphabet soup. I loved making words in the soup with the noodles that were in the shape of the alphabet letters. My father would say,” Stop playing with your food. And my mother would say, “Oh, leave her alone. She’s just a little kid.

As time went by, I grew up and visited my friend Mrs. McFarland less and less. I was always busy with my neighborhood friends and my school friends, who came over after school. There was never a shortage of kids around town to play with after school and during the summer.

Eventually, I graduated from elementary school and went on to high school. We had to take an entrance exam to get into Catholic High Schools. I was sure that I failed, but as it turned out, I passed both tests, the one for St. Mary of the Angels Academy and Holy Cross High School. My parents decided that I would attend St. Mary of the Angels Academy. I had to take a bus to go back and forth to high school. As time went by, I didn’t see Mrs. McFarland anymore. She didn’t come outside since she was having difficulty walking, and I didn’t see her working in the garden anymore.

Then, one day, I was sitting at the kitchen table, and someone knocked at our front door. I got up and opened the door. It was an older man, and for some reason, he looked very upset. My mother came to the door and said, “Can I help you?” He said, “ I was just across the street at Mrs. McFarland’s house. I am her insurance man. And she had a heart attack and died right in front of me.” And then he started crying. I never saw a grown man cry before. My mother told him to please sit down. He did. The tears were streaming down his face. I looked at my mom, and she looked at me. And then we both started crying. I felt really bad because I hadn’t visited her for a long time. And I wish I had. I never saw Mrs. McFarland again. Someone else bought her house and rented out the top part of the house to someone else. They took Mrs. McFarland’s swing down, and about a year later, they cut down her Weeping Willow tree one day. I’ll never understand why. I cried all over again.

I will always remember Mrs. McFarland even though I am now the age she was when she became my first friend.

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REGRETS, I’VE HAD A FEW, BUT THEN AGAIN TOO FEW TO MENTION

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I grew up in an Irish Catholic family. There were six children in our family. My fraternal twin sister and I were the youngest, and then I had three older sisters; the oldest one was fifteen years older, and the next two were seven and eight years older than I was. My oldest sibling was my only brother, who was nineteen years older than me.

My childhood home in Maple Shade, NJ

One of the things that I experienced during my childhood was that my family was not big huggers. In fact, I recall very little physical affection from my parents or my siblings. For that matter, it was a rare occasion when my mother or my father told me that they loved me. As for my siblings, I don’t remember them ever showing any affection to me. I’m not saying that they didn’t love each other. I’m saying love and affection were not displayed. I believe at some level that we cared about each other, but we rarely expressed it. I believe that this was a trait that originated within the Irish Culture in Ireland. And since both of my grandparents originated in Ireland, you might say that this lack of showing love or affection was a trait that their parents and their parents and previous generations displayed. And it has occurred to me that if I had grown up in Ireland, this lack of affection might not have affected me so deeply because in Ireland, this is a trait of people in Ireland.

But, since I was born and grew up in America, I knew people and families whose families originated in many other countries. My oldest and best friend’s family was Italian. Her family were affectionate to one another and often expressed verbally their love for one another. I spent a great deal of my childhood at my best friend’s house, and I couldn’t help but notice how often my friend’s mother and father hugged her and told her they loved her. It made me feel sad. I recall asking my mother one day why she and my father didn’t hug me or tell me they loved me. She didn’t really respond to my question. So, for most of my life, I questioned whether my parents loved me.

As I grew up, I came to realize that both my father and mother loved me. And they demonstrated it with their concern and care for my well-being. My mother took care of me when I became ill or if I fell and was injured while playing. She worried about me when I went on bike rides and didn’t come back for hours. She worried when I went to visit my friends and didn’t come back on time for meals. My parents showed their love by enrolling me and my sister and my older sisters in Catholic School for twelve years, which was a financial burden for them. Not to mention that my mother cooked hot meals every day of the twenty years that I lived at my familial home, even when she worked a full-time job.

As I look back over the course of my life, I recognize that I have had difficulty showing my feelings. However, what I have also recognized about my nature is that I have a big heart. That I showed my care and love for people in different ways. Since I was a young girl, my older siblings married moved to their own homes, and started their own families. I found out that I loved being around their children. I enjoyed taking care of them and showing my love for them by hugging them and playing with them. I didn’t have any issues showing affection toward them I loved them as if they were my own younger siblings.

I looked forward to the time when I would fall in love, get married, and have children. And over time, all these events did take place. I had my first child when I was thirty and my second child when I was thirty-four. And I can say without a doubt that there were no two children who were loved more than I loved my daughters. They were not perfect children, and I know I was not the perfect mother. But I love them both with all my heart through the good times and the bad. I also recognize that when they were young, they received many more hugs and kisses than they received when they became adolescents. Adolescents can be like prickly pears.

It was never a matter of me loving them less, but they seemed less able to accept and respond to my affection. Adolescence is a difficult time for both the adolescent and the parents. They are moving forward and away from their families, and perhaps I, along with most parents, attempt to hold on more tightly, perhaps too tightly to them, which causes them to rebel and react negatively.

Parenting an adolescent is perhaps the most difficult challenge anyone can have in their life. Because during that time, adolescents are attempting to move away from childhood and move towards independence. Which is the natural order of things but still a painful time for parents. And a challenging time for adolescents.

I have to admit during my children’s adolescence, there weren’t a lot of hugs and kisses. I regret that, but it is hard to hug someone who makes it their life’s goal to move as far away from you physically and emotionally as they possibly can. And they are just as willing to leave with angry, hateful words.

When I left home at age twenty, I talked to my parents in advance. I was not angry, I still loved them both with my whole heart. I was just ready to move forward in my life and my independence. And that included having started working full-time by the time I was eighteen. I bought my own new car and found an apartment in a town thirty minutes drive from where I grew up. I became responsible for my own expenses, including car insurance, health insurance, rent, and food.

Everyone doesn’t take the same path in life. And life often offers us challenges that are difficult to overcome. Sometimes it is better to take one day at a time, one step at a time. And sometimes, it is better to make that leap of faith in yourself that you are capable of being independent.

On the other hand, growing up doesn’t have to mean growing apart. But sometimes it does. When I was twenty-three, I moved to Florida and got married. Then, my new husband and I moved to Santa Barbara, California, so that he could attend Brooks Institute of Photography. I did not move back to New Jersey for seven years. It was a time of growth, both mentally and emotionally. And I returned a much more independent, mature young woman.

After we arrived back in New Jersey, we stayed with my parent until my husband found a job, and then we decided to buy a small home in Pennsauken, NJ. It was only about a ten-minute drive to Maple Shade, where my parents lived. In fact, my father was one of our first visitors.

When I was thirty years old, I had our first child, and three years later, we had our second child. It was a challenging time for us, and we were so happy and blessed to have my parents in our lives. Becoming a new parent and a stay-at-home Mom for several years was challenging and rewarding. On the other hand, I often felt isolated because I spent most of my time alone with two young children.

When my oldest daughter was in the second grade, and my youngest daughter was in preschool, I made the decision to go to college, and I was accepted at three art schools: Hussian, Moore, and Temple Tyler School of Art in Philadelphia. I decided to attend Tyler School of Art because they offered me a full scholarship for the first year. After the first year, I applied for student loans to continue my education.

The Tyler School of Art 1991

It was difficult balancing going to college and being a wife and mother. But, with the help of friends, I was able to do just that. I graduated at forty-one with a Bachelor of Arts and a teaching certificate. I was in the top ten percent of Temple University in 1991. It was a challenging four years for me, my children, and my family. My oldest daughter was in the fifth grade, and my youngest was in second grade when I graduated. I have to admit it was one of the hardest but most rewarding challenges I ever faced, both for me and my husband and two children. During my four years in college, I spent my time with my children when I was home. After they went to bed at night, I did my school work and studied sometimes long into the night. When I was on school break and during the summer, I spent all my time with my children. It was a growing experience for all of us.

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THE BOOB TUBE

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1950’s television

When I was quite young, perhaps about nine years old, my father bought our first Television. Most of my friends who lived in Maple Shade, New Jersey, already had one. It was black and white, meaning it was not in color. There were only three channels on our TV. They were three, six, and ten. That’s it, three channels.

One of the first shows that I watched was Captain Kangaroo. It was a children’s show, and I never missed a single episode. That is until I turned seven years and I began going to school. Luckily for my mother, we lived only two houses down from the Catholic Church and the Catholic Grade School. Which was called OLPH (Our Lady of Perpetual Help).

Captain Kangaroo

I was absolutely heartbroken when I realized I would never be able to watch the Captain Kangaroo Show. But, I was happy to find out there were children’s programs on TV after school.

Sally Star

I rapidly became a faithful follower of The Sally Star Show. The show also featured short movies starring the Three Stooges and the Popeye Theater. When this show was on TV, I focused all my attention on it. It didn’t matter what else was going on. My mother would often remind me that dinner was ready. But, it was nearly impossible to unglue me from the TV while the Sally Star Show was on.

I’m sure I was among a great number of children of my generation who rapidly became addicted to watching television. Television became available to the general public in the mid-1950.

My father would often remind me not to sit directly in front of the TV as he was sure I would go blind. Don’t worry, and I didn’t go blind. But, it turned out I did need glasses for seeing anything that wasn’t up close. I didn’t get eyeglasses until I was in high school, unfortunately. And watching TV up close was not the reason I was near-sighted.

Once I outgrew watching Captain Kangaroo and Sally Star. I used to watch American Bandstand, which was a live dance show where local teenagers danced to the latest hit music. I was still in elementary school at the time, but my older siblings loved the show, and one time one of my sisters attended one of the shows.

With the advent of TV came commercials that advertised products and companies in the local area. In fact, TV assisted in spreading American culture around the world. 

Until the early 1970s, the majority of people who appeared on TV were Caucasian. The occasional person of color who appeared on TV was portrayed as lower caste people, like servants. In the town I grew up in, I clearly recall seeing signs stating no blacks were allowed and on some of the entrances to the local bars, “no women allowed.” Or there was a separate entrance for women. I can not recall any TV shows in the first years of TV that included people of color. But that did happen over time.

It wasn’t until about the mid-sixties, when Bill Cosby starred as a detective on a show called I SPY, that an actor of color was seen on TV. In my own experience, there was only one black girl who attended our high school. There were no people of color living in the town I grew up in until the Fox Chase Apartments, which was located on the outside perimeters of Maple Shade, allowed people of color to reside, and this was in the late sixties and early 1970s. TV shows reflected the American Culture at the time.

I have to admit that TV had a great influence on my early life and how I came to believe the world to be. In many ways, TV was a reflection of American lives, and American culture affected what we saw on TV. And with the advent of cable TV came new channels and networks.

As a young girl growing up watching TV every day, I noticed that girls and women were almost entirely portrayed in subservient positions to boys and men. I couldn’t help but think how unfair this was. I always considered myself to be equal to any boy, and often I thought I was smarter than they were. But, TV didn’t portray girls and women as equals. And in our own home, our mothers did all the cooking and cleaning and the wash. When I began high school, my mother found employment working at Wanamakers Department store in the employee’s kitchen. It was hard work, and she worked full-time. And when she came home from work, she still had to cook and clean and do the wash.

Housewife in the 1950’ss

It wasn’t until the early 1970s that women began actively seeking equal rights and opportunities. I was just out of high school when this movement began. And TV reflected the lack of opportunities for women in the real world and television.

It was about this time I began watching less TV and reading more and more. And as a result, I learned that my life and the world were not the same reality that appeared on TV. But, that TV was a somewhat distorted view of the world. And that I needed to open my eyes to reality and not fictionalized reality. And when I did, I found that although more than half of all women were employed, they were only getting paid sixty percent of what men were paid. Presently, most women still earn about 82% of what men do working in the same job. Can anyone explain how this is fair or equitable? I certainly can’t.

And I have to admit that my own father once told me it was a waste for girls to get an education since they would get married and have children. And that is when I made up my mind that someday I would go to college, and nothing was going to stop me. And that day did come but not for a long time. After I got married at twenty-three and moved to Florida and then to California, I put my husband through college. And we returned to New Jersey and bought a small house, and eventually had two children.

When I was thirty-six years old, and my children were six and three. I decided that I was going to apply to colleges and earn a degree, and I did just that. I applied to and was accepted at Temple University in Philadelphia, and after four years of hard work and studying, I earned three degrees, including a degree in Art Education. And my husband and I bought a large old home in Pitman, NJ. A doctor formerly owned it. But, it was in disrepair as it had stood empty for eight years. My husband and I spent years renovating the house. And I opened up my own business called The Art Room, and I taught art to children and adults for many years.

Over my lifetime, I found that you will receive many messages on television, in the movies, from the media, and from all the people around you. But, you must trust your own instinct and believe in yourself. Make choices and decisions that are right for you. And ignore all the noise around you. I have come to believe that television no longer reflects “real life.” That stories are fictionalized and edited until there is little that reflects reality.

I do believe that it can affect, to some degree, how people view important issues such as politics, race, and gender equality. But we need to take it with a grain of salt. Because what you hear and see on TV can be both misleading if it is not verified. And also, you shouldn’t interpret anything on TV literally. And remember, television was called a “Boob Tube” for a reason.

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IN LIFE YOU LEARN AND GROW THROUGH PAIN, STRUGGLES, LOVE AND JOY

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I find it hard to believe at times, but I’ve gotten to that stage in life when I realize my most valuable possession is the time I have left to live and what I do with it. It seems like a blink of an eye since the day I sat in the church auditorium waiting for my name to be called as one of the graduating Seniors at St. Mary of the Angels Academy high school. This was an all-girl academic Academy in Haddonfield, NJ. It was June of 1969. My graduation marked both an ending and a beginning for me. The end of my Catholic School career and my childhood, and the beginning of my future as a working adult.

To be perfectly honest, I had never given any real thought about what I would do when I graduated from high school. And no one ever asked me what my plans were. And if they asked me, I would have had to say, “I have no clue, honestly.” That is until one day at the end of my final semester at SMAA (St. Mary of the Angels Academy). Sister Eileen Marie, the principal at SMAA, called me to her office and told me that she had a job for me. Apparently, Sister Eileen Marie found jobs for students who were not going to go to college. She informed me that she had recommended me for a job as a dental assistant for Doctor Edward Wozniak, who lived in and practiced dentistry in Haddon Township, New Jersey. It was about a thirty-five-minute drive from where I lived in Maple Shade, NJ. 

Sister Eileen told me that Dr. Wozniak’s wife had attended SMAA back in the day, and she wanted to hire a graduating student from St. Mary’s to come and work at her husband’s dental office since she had two small children and couldn’t work in the office. I was told I should arrive at Dr. Wozniak’s office on time, dress properly, speak up, and make a good impression. I recall having the interview with Mrs. Wozniak, but not how I got there since I didn’t have a car. I have to assume that either my father drove me there or I took public transportation. It was a short interview, and Mrs. Wozniak explained what my duties would be and my hours, and my pay. The only money I had ever earned previously was babysitting which I probably made about a dollar an hour. Mrs. Wozniak ended her description with the question,” So when can you start?” I told her my graduation day and said,” Any day after that.”

I can’t say I remember being nervous about starting my first job, but I probably was. But, as it turned out that although I never had any work experience, I was a quick learner. And in no time, I was learning how to be a dental assistant, develop dental xrays, answer the phone and make appointments, and call patients to confirm their appointments. I also was a chairside assistant, cleaning the rooms and setting up the instruments for each patient. I escorted each patient into the room where their dental work was going to take place. I talk to each patient and try to calm them down if they were nervous or just past the time of day with them. I also had to clean the rooms, including the lab, at the end of the day.

It was a challenging job. But I have to admit I really liked it. Dr. Wozniak was a kind man and always thoughtful to both myself and his patients. I worked there for about four years. I believe that working at Dr. Wozniak was an excellent experience for me. I became more confident in my abilities and more outgoing. Since I had to talk to all the patients and reassure them, answer all the phone calls. I learned to be organized, efficient, and friendly to the people I came in contact with me.

In fact, every job or position I have held over my lifetime has been of benefit to me. I enjoyed some jobs more than others. But, overall, every experience prepared me for the next one. I was no longer shy and reticent. I was outgoing and confident. Life, after all, is full of learning experiences that benefit you from that day forward if you are open to them.

I have to admit that I have had and held many jobs over the years. And that not every job was a dream job; some I downright hated. But, still, I learned something along the way. And I met many interesting people. After I stopped working at Dr. Wozniak, I decided I wanted to do something more challenging and different. And I did just that. I applied for a job as a psychiatric aide at Ancora State Mental Hospital. It was a good hour and a half drive from where I lived. My brother, who was a psychologist, had at one time, early in his career, worked at Ancora. He gave me the contact number of one of the people he worked with at Ancora. And so, I called her and got an appointment for a job interview. I did well at the interview and was hired. I was informed that I would have to take several weeks of training before I could work with the patients in the active psyche ward. I said, “But I told you I wanted to work with children. And she told me not at this time, but perhaps at some point in the future.

So, I had to take a thirty-day training with several other candidates. We had to take a written test at the end of the training. It turned out that a young woman named Joan Hall and I were the only ones who excelled in the test. The instructor told us we should both consider getting further formal education since we had both stood out from the crowd. Joan was assigned to a different ward than I was, and I never came in contact with her again.

I was assigned to the Active Psyche Ward. And I have to admit that “active” was not the best description of the behavior I observed in the first couple of days I worked there. You have to remember that this was in the early 1970s, and few medicinal drugs were available to treat mental illness. Most of the patients I encountered were taking Thorozine. They often walked around like zombies, or they slept all day. In the children’s ward, I often saw young children running around without clothes on. I have to admit I was shocked since my own life. I had always been sheltered to some extent by my parents.

At one point, I was assigned the duty of supervising women’s showers. There really aren’t any words to describe that experience. Seeing so many females, young and old undressed and standing in the showers. I was told they were not allowed to share showers with other patients. So, the first time I supervised the female patients in the shower, I spent my time separating grown women who kept trying to shower with other women and kept touching one another. This was not a good experience for me, and I informed my immediate supervisor that there was no way I could do that anymore.

In addition, I had to accompany patients from one part of the hospital to another. In inclement weather, I would take the patients through a system of underground tunnels. It turned out this was a place where many patients would arrange clandestine meetings with one another to have sex. I learned to avoid looking at these interactions and tried to block them from my memory.

It turned out that I was put on the three to twelve shift. And because I had to drive for nearly an hour to return home, my parents didn’t want me to continue working there. I requested to be assigned full-time to the children’s wards since their work shifts were during the day. At one point, the doctor in the ward where I was working told me he wanted me to observe an electroshock treatment that was being done on a young woman.

I never observed such medical treatment before since I was only out of high school for three years. I was somewhat terrified as I stood there and watched the young woman being treated. Since she was strapped to the table and had no recourse, she started reacting negatively, crying and asking them to stop. The doctors laughed and kept going. They made fun of her. It was just awful. It turns out that patients treated with electroshock treatment suffer memory loss. I’ve never been able to forgive those “doctors” for degrading the poor woman. Who was supposed to be treated with kindness and understanding and be on the road to recovery?

At this point, I decided this was not my job. Because my core beliefs would not allow me to stand by and let another person, one that was struggling with life, be treated with such disregard. I gave them two weeks’ notice and quit. It was a learning experience for me. I quickly realized who I was and what I was and was unwilling to do to earn a living for myself.

I never told anyone what I had observed while I was working at Ancora. Because I didn’t really have the words to express the horror I felt at how my fellow human beings who were supposed to be helping this poor miscreant treated the people they were supposed to be supporting to a return to mental health. I felt the system had totally failed these people. And I could not imagine spending any more time working there. So, it became apparent that I was going to have to get busy looking for another job. And I was successful in doing just that. I applied for a job at Ellis High-Risk Auto Insurance Company on Haddon Avenue in Haddon Township, New Jersey. And it turned out to be a good choice. But, I will speak to that experience in my next memoir about jobs I have had over my lifetime.

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CREATE A LIFE THAT HAS PURPOSE AND MEANING

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I’ve always been a bit of a loner. Even as a child, I seemed to be content to sit at home and watch TV or read a good book. In fact, I spent much of my free time at our local library. I could spend hours and hours going through the book stacks to find that perfect book to read. For many years I read mystery books and Horror. Stephen King and, Kean Kootz, John Grisham were my favorite writers.  

I have to say I preferred my own company. I was not adverse to the company of cats, my dog, birds, and my hamster. So, I suppose that seems a little odd. I guess most people who knew me knew that I was not a run-of-the-mill kid. I liked taking long walks by myself around town or to a lake that was located in the town next to where I lived. I had a wild imagination and told people stories that they often found hard to believe.

I always had plenty of things to keep me busy, reading, watching cartoons, riding my bike all over the place, drawing, and making things. I was always a highly creative person. Reading is what eventually drew me into writing and telling stories. Anyone who is lucky enough to be born with an active imagination is unlikely to be bored or lonely. At least, that has been my experience.

It’s not that I didn’t have friends. I had school friends and neighborhood friends. And yet I always had a desire to spend a large portion of my time alone. As I grew up, I found that my desire to spend time on my own creative pursuits outweighed my desire to go out with friends as often. And believe it or not, that desire to create art is what drove me to eventually make the decision to go to art school at the grand old age of thirty- six. I had two children at the time, who were six and three.

I was the only adult student to enter as a Freshman at the Tyler School of Art, which was part of Temple University of Philadelphia. I made a decision that while I was going to college, I was going to make every effort to befriend every student I met along the way. I looked young for my age, but by no means did I look eighteen. I also decided that not only would I complete my college education, but also that I would excel in every way possible. And to some degree, I did just that.

Tacony Bridge

I had to drive from Pennsauken, New Jersey, to the Tyler Campus, which was in Cheltenham, Pa. This was about a forty-minute drive from where I lived. And I had to cross the Tacony Bridge from New Jersey to Pa. That was my first hurdle since I was terrified of crossing bridges. And the reason for my fear was that I had a scary experience when I was little. My father took me and my mother with him to Philadelphia, and I was sitting on my mother’s lap. I think I was about five years old. And I was leaning against the car door. We were temporarily stationary as a bridge opening backed up the cars. And the passenger door flew open, and I fell out the door onto the bridge. Luckily we were in the far right lane, and no other cars were to the right of my dad’s car. And from that day forward, I was afraid of bridges. So, as I was saying, that was my first hurdle to overcome my fear of bridges since I had to go over that bridge at least two times a day. And fortunately, I did just that.

It turned out that I was the only adult student in my Freshman class. During that first week of school, I was always the first student to arrive in each class. Since I always had a phobia of being late. As soon as the other students started arriving in the classroom, they would ask me if I was the teacher. And I would laugh and say,” No, I’m a new student.” And then they would stare at me for a couple of minutes. I didn’t let this bother me. By the end of my first year at Tyler, I had befriended nearly every student in my class and a couple of the teachers.

By the end of my senior year, I knew all the students in the school and had become friends with them. On the afternoon of our graduation, I graduated with a Bachelor of Fine Art and Teaching Certificate with a 4.0 average and in the top ten percent of the entire graduating classes at Temple University. I have to admit I was proud of my accomplishment. It wasn’t easy going to college with two young children. At times it was really difficult. During the Spring and Summer Break, I took care of my children and the child of a friend whose father babysat my children after school during the school year. I wouldn’t have been able to complete my education without their help in caring for my daughters.

When I graduated from college, my oldest daughter was ten, and my youngest was seven. And then, I began searching for an Art teacher’s position in the public school system in New Jersey. And after months and months of applying to every public school in South Jersey and Pennsylvania, I found that the public schools were no longer providing funding to Art programs in their public schools.

I can not describe how disheartened I was when I couldn’t find employment teaching art. So, after months and months of looking for a job that didn’t exist, I decided that I would have to create my own job. And so, I began a search for a house that was big enough to be our new home and also had room to teach art to the students who lived there. And finally, I did just that. I found a home that had formerly been the home and office of a doctor Dr. Sooy in Pitman, New Jersey. He was a Neuroo psychologist. And apparently, he only saw patients at nighttime. 

The house was large and had been empty for almost ten years. It was in need of a new roof immediately. There were seventeen rooms in the house, including a third floor and an attic,, and two basements. It was built in 1910. It was an amazing house but needed repair from the roof down. And over the next twenty-four years that we lived there, we did just that. We did all the repairs ourselves except for putting on the new roof and new heater.

There were three rooms and a bathroom in the section of the house that had been the doctor’s offices. And upon seeing it, I knew I had found the home for my family and my art classes. After a year of renovating the house and the offices, I launched The ART ROOM. It wasn’t easy by any means. I had to notify everyone in the town via the local newspaper. And I had to appear before the township counsel to explain exactly what my plans were for the Art Room. And how I envisioned that it would be of benefit to the children and adults in the local community.

Several of my new neighbors were kind enough to speak before the township leaders on my behalf. One of my neighbors, in particular, Doctor Bob Batten,, and his wife, Marie Batten, were my biggest conrads in arms if you will. And finally, my plan and my classes were approved, and I could launch my business and my school. I was lucky enough to teach art to many children and adults over the years that I lived in my home in Pitman. It was a wonderful experience, and I became friends with many of the town folk and watched my students grow as artists and move on to go to finish high school and on to college.

My oldest daughter Jeanette attended my classes for years and applied to and was accepted at the three of the best Art Schools in Philadelphia and ultimately attended The Hussia School of Art in Philadelphia. And she has become an extremely talented artist in her own right, including designing and making her own clothing. My youngest daughter is a gifted ceramic artist and, to a large degree, self-taught. She had taken some basic ceramic classes in college but has taken it to a much higher level of competency because of her innate artistic talent.

Not all the students that attended my classes became artists, but their lives were enriched by their experience in learning how to express their imagination through painting, drawing, and three-dimensional art. As a matter of fact, two of the Pitman administrators took night classes for several years at The Art Room.

In addition, I was blessed by getting to know and spend time with many of the people that lived in Pitman and their children over the years I lived there. I can’t tell how much their friendships enriched my own life. I found watching people grow as human beings and be able to express their own creative drives regardless of their age inspiring.

And finally, I can say that my experience of putting myself out there in public view was certainly a positive experience. One which I can not put a dollar amount. I look back on that time as a happy and positive experience of which I am proud. It was an enriching experience and a memory that I will always cherish. It imbued me with a new understanding of my fellow human beings and how many people have an innate desire to grow and continue learning as humans. These experiences improve their quality of life.

As for myself, even though I have reached the twilight years of my life, I still want to continue learning and growing both as an artist and a writer. And as a human being, I continue to engage with all the people I come in contact. I hope that contact has a positive effect on them in some way. I have realized over my many years that doing good in your life, it will give your life purpose and meaning. And hopefully inspire people to do the same.

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LIFE’S HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS

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I guess you could say I’ve always been somewhat of a loner. Although throughout most of my life, I’ve always maintained a “best friend.” My best friend has not always been a fellow human being. Currently, my best friends are my dogs. And so far, they have proven to be the most loyal and loving, and accepting best friends. I suppose my peculiar ways have a tendency to “put people off.”

Watercolor I painted of my house where I grew up in and the Catholic Church that defined who I became as an adult in many ways.

Oh, you’re wondering what traits I have that put people off. Well, my sense of humor. I have to admit I’m a sarcastic person. Not mean sarcastic, but funny sarcastic. Although not everyone ‘gets” my sense of humor. I have something of a trigger finger when it comes to responding to people’s comments. It’s no sooner out of your mouth than I have a sarcastic remark to counter it. I think I’m a riot, but not everyone would agree.

And then there’s my almost total lack of interest in my outward appearance. Especially if I’m at home and working around the outside or out in the garden, I will definitely be wearing my oldest, most worn-out clothes I own. So, you happen to come over to my house without forwarning me. Well, you can expect me to look pretty much like I haven’t showered or washed my clothes recently. If you let me know you are coming in advance, you can be sure that I will take a quick shower and change my clothes. And I will have something for you to eat when you arrive. Without warning and I most likely will have an empty fridge, and you’ll be lucky to get more than a glass of water or tea. What can I say?

Downtown Maple Shade in the 1950s

Oh, there I go off the track again. I was explaining how I am somewhat of a loner and usually only have one close friend at any given time. And in recent years, most of my closest friends have been dogs, cats, and birds. And they may not even be my dogs, cats, or birds. They could very well be my neighbor’s pets. In fact, my best and closest friend when I was a young child was a stray cat named Strottles. He was an ancient orange cat. He was covered with scars from his many battles with neighbors’ male cats. He came to our side door every day and would meow until I came outside and gave him his share of hugs, scratches, and petting.

And in addition, I befriended all the neighbor’s pets, including cats and dogs. I went out of my way to talk to all the older people in the neighborhood, who often lived alone. And they were more than happy to make my acquaintance and befriend me. I found that they were good listeners and were never in a hurry. And they always seemed entranced by the stories I would tell them about the adventures I experienced in our neighborhood and the rest of the town that I lived in as well. My parents gave me full rein. As long as I was home for lunch or dinner on time, all was copesetic. In fact, they rarely asked where I had been or what I had been up to in fact. Even at the age of six, I was allowed to go out on my own as long as I wasn’t late for meals or bedtime. I kid you not.

I met some interesting people on my excursions. And once I was old enough to ride a bike, there was no stopping me. I traveled to all the surrounding towns on that bike. There was no stopping me. And like I said, my parents never asked where I had been or what I had been up to. Go figure.

My family in the 1950s

My family in the 1950’s

One of my favorite haunts was the local library, which was only two rooms. I used to go there at least once or twice a week, even before I was old enough to get a library book. I would pick out a bunch of books and spend several hours perusing them from the front cover to the last page. Sometimes, the librarians would greet me with ‘Oh boy, do we have a book for you.” And then I would be in book heaven for the next couple of hours. I made friends with all the local merchants. Needless to say, the local bakery and its employees became best friends of mine. I was their official taste tester. I can’t express just how much I loved all things sweet, from cakes to pies, to cookies.

And then there was the shoemaker. His shop was right around the corner from the Ben Franklin 5&10. I’ll tell you about that later. Anyway, Tony the shoemaker was one of my favorite people to visit because he was always happy to see me, and sometimes I brought him a treat from the bakery. He came from Italy, and I loved hearing him talk with his Italian accent. He liked to hear all my stories about the people I talked to around town. He knew most of them as he was the only shoemaker in town.

Then, I would stop at the Rexall Drug Store and then the 5&10 cent store where you could actually purchase things for a nickel or a dime. I liked to collect foreign stamps when I was a kid. And you could buy a whole bunch of used stamps for fifty cents or a dollar if you had that much money. There were so many treasures to be found in that 5&10 store. I could spend hours in there just walking up and down the aisles. Sometimes, I would find some coins on the sidewalk when I was walking around downtown, and then before you could say whoop de doo., I would run down the street to the 5&10 and spend that money like it was burning a hole in my pocket.

Saint Mary of the Angel’s Academy, where I attended high school.

Oh, but the best thing of all was the Roxy Theater, where every Saturday, you could watch a movie for twenty-five cents. I used to go with all my friends, sometimes school friends, and sometimes neighborhood kids. I would bring my lunch with me in a brown paper bag. My best neighborhood friend lived three houses away from me. We did everything together. At least everything during the summer, but during the school year, she used to sleep in late on Saturday morning, and then she would have to clean her room. So, I didn’t usually see her until we went to the children’s mass on Sunday. I was always talking and laughing during Mass and causing some kind of ruckus, and getting in trouble with the nuns.

After Mass, I would run home and eat a big Sunday breakfast with my family, and then I would be off on my bike. On Sunday,I spent most of my time alone because my friend’s family spent the day together. I didn’t have to be home except for breakfast and then at dinner time. I spent Sunday riding my bike around or taking long walks. Where I would stop and visit all the neighbor’s dogs and cats. And sometimes, I would go and visit all the older people in my neighborhood who lived alone. They always seemed happy to see me, and sometimes they offered me cake. And you know, I never said no to a piece of cake. And they all loved hearing my stories about the people in town, sometimes, I embellished the stories somewhat, but that just made them more interesting. I guess that’s when I began my journey of being a storyteller.

One time during Summer vacation, all the neighborhood kids were all outside playing Hide and Seek, and I was with my best friend. And I decided to tell her a story. I told her that I was actually an alien from outer space and came from another planet. And I was going to take her back with me to my planet. Apparently, I told the story so well that she believed me. Even though she knew me all her life, anyway, she said she didn’t want to go live on another planet, and she started crying buckets of tears. I couldn’t calm her down enough to tell her I was just telling a story. And it wasn’t true.

So, I had to take her home so her mother could calm her down. I tried to explain to her mother that I was just telling her one of my stories, but she was mad all the same. I have to admit I never told my mother and father about making my best friend cry. Because they had told me many times that one of these days, I was going to get into trouble for telling my tall tales.

I became friends with the old lady that lived across the street from my house. She was a widow and lived all alone. My best friend and I used to go over to Mrs. McFarland’s house and play with our dolls on her big swing. Once, Mrs. McFarland brought her childhood doll outside to show us. It was made of China and had real hair on its head. I loved Mrs. McFarland because whenever I came over to her yard, she would come outside and talk to me and tell me stories about her life. Mrs. McFarland only had one and a half arms. She told me that she was born like that, and her one arm only went down as far as her elbow.

But that didn’t stop Mrs. McFarland. She took care of herself and her house and did all the gardening in her yard. Her favorite flowers were roses and tulips. She used to tell me all the names of the flowers and how to take care of them. She inspired me to become a gardener when I grew up. And here I am, the age she was when I first became friends with her. And now I am a gardener and like nothing better than spending the day outside, tending my flower. Mrs. McFarland had a gigantic Weeping Willow in her yard, and she used to let me climb it. And now I planted a Weeping Willow in my yard here in North Carolina. When I was about sixteen years old, she passed away, and every time I looked across the street at her house, I missed her.

Over the course of my life, I have always found my own company to be satisfying. And I have always had many hobbies and interests. I love to read, draw and paint, and make things. I made all my own clothes for years and my children when they were young. When I was thirty-six, I made the decision to go to college and learn how to draw and paint. I graduated from college when I was forty with a degree in Art Education and a Bachelor of Arts Degree. I taught art for years, and often my students would sit out in my garden and draw or paint pictures of my plants and flowers. Along the way, I started writing short stories, and when I retired here to North Carolina, I decided to start a writer’s blog on the internet that was six years ago. And here I am, still going strong. You never know what life will have in store for you and where it will take you. I have lived in New Jersey, Florida, California, and the past eight years in North Carolina. I met some interesting people when I was working for the Elizabeth Warren Campaign. And at the Animal Sanctuary, I have been volunteering for the last eight years, three mornings a week.

As long as my heart and mind are still working, I will keep active and motivated to learn, meet new people, and grow as a human being. Life is short and goes by quickly, so whatever you do, make the most of it. Be kind to all you meet along life’s highways and byways. You never know what life has planned for you. Keep an open heart and an open mind, and a smile on your face.

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ADVERSITY CAN BE A GOOD SCHOOL

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Catholic Elementary School

I’m older than most of the people who may be reading this, but still, I think my experiences may resonate with some of you at some level. I believe that the experiences I had and endured made me the person I ultimately became. When I was quite young in elementary school, I can remember making the decision to be true to myself at a young age. Even if that meant some people didn’t like me, including some of my family members. In a way, I became my own best friend.

The fact is that I’m not your run-of-the-mill person. I never follow the crowd. I didn’t try to fit in. I don’t and never felt the need to follow trends. I attended Catholic Parochial School, which means that I was forced o wear a uniform and shoes that everyone else wore. And woe be him or her who didn’t obey those rules and regulations.

I followed the rules regarding wearing the uniforms, including the hideous shoes, and wore a beanie. I didn’t have a choice. But, I didn’t agree with or follow all the rules regarding believing every word taught by the nuns. I was a quiet child, but I had my own mind and my own thoughts, and they often conflicted with the rules and the punishment that the nuns subjected children to in the 1960s. We were told in Church and our classrooms that wherever two or more of us gathered, there would be love. That certainly was not true in my experience for the twelve years I attended Catholic school.

I was a quiet child in the classroom. But, outside the classroom, I was always making jokes and telling tall stories to my friends and anyone who would listen. I’ve always had a highly active imagination.

Because I had a tendency to joke around with m fellow students, I found myself being hit with rulers with metal edges and being put in the boiler room for hours by the nuns. Or worst of all, being ridiculed in front of the class if I was asked a question. My mind would often go blank when I was asked a question out of the blue. And I would just stand there, struck dumb.

After twelve long years of these types of experiences, I developed the mindset of a prisoner of war. I recall one experience when I was in fourth grade. Sister Joseph Catherine, who was teaching us, called me up to Blackboard and asked me to complete the arithmetic problem. I was so frightened that I couldn’t think straight.

high school graduation picture

Susan Culver- high school graduation picture

And she yelled at me, came up behind me, grabbed me by my ponytail, and slammed my head repeatedly into the blackboard. After that, I tried to keep myself on guard against any type of behavior that might draw attention to myself around people with whom I was unfamiliar. People always described me as shy, but I wasn’t shy. I was protecting myself.

Some of my school experiences helped develop my imagination. For instance, this was a release from my everyday experiences that I had no control over. We had to go to confession on the First Friday of the month. As a child, I didn’t believe I really committed any mortal or venial sins as the nuns suggested that we all did. So, the week before I had to go to Confession, I used to spend some time making up some “good” sins to tell the priest in the confessional. I did this every first Friday of every month for the eight years that I attended Catholic grade school. Father Nolan (the priest I always confessed my sins to) said, “And are you sorry for all these sins you committed?’ And I would answer,” Yes, Father.” And then, for penance, he would tell me to” say three Hail Marys and three Our Fathers.” I  hadn’t committed any sins other than lying to the priest once a month about my sins.

Although the nuns were strict with all kids, they were particularly strict and tough on the boys, especially in the eighth grade. The nun that taught my eighth-grade class didn’t seem to have a problem pushing a boy down a flight of stairs if he acted out. I never understood why they were allowed to do that to anyone. At one point, I decided to tell my parents what was going on in school. And my mother said, “Do you want me to go up and talk to the nuns?” I said, “No.” Because I was afraid, that would make everything worse. Looking back, I wish I had told my parents to talk to the nuns to stop abusing me and the other kids.

In addition, my parents shouldn’t have left it up to me to decide what should be done. They should have taken matters into their own hands and complained to the school or perhaps removed me from Catholic School and enrolled me in the local public schools.

In addition, I live two houses away from the Catholic School, so whenever the nuns needed help in the classroom after school, during Summer break, or after a snowstorm, I was called in to help. Also, I had to go up to the convent where the nuns lived. It was about five blocks from my home. And I had to clean the storage room where the nun’s canned food was stored. And clean the cans and the room from top to bottom once a week. I’m not sure, but it’s possible that my parents were getting a discount on the Catholic School tuition because of the work we did in the convent, and in the school, in the summer and in the winter.

Of course, not all my experiences in Catholic School were negative ones. I made a great many friends. And I learned how to spell and do basic math. But, what I learned most thoroughly was English Grammar and writing. And to this day, I appreciate this skill that I’m still benefiting from in my writing and my ability to express myself verbally and in the written word.

I learned self-discipline and how to work hard and be thorough in everything I attempted to do in life. And overall, I have to say in every job I ever had in my life, I always excelled. I benefited from what the nuns taught me, albeit hard-won lessons.

This is me writing a new story.

I don’t really know how Catholic School children are disciplined nowadays. But, I hope by this point, the Catholic Schools and teachers have some deeper understanding and knowledge about child development and keeping control of a classroom without verbal and physical abuse of any kind. When I got married and had children, I enrolled them in public school. There was no way I would have wanted them to have the same experiences that I and my generation had to endure in the 1950s and ’60s.

So, overall, Catholic School was not entirely a negative experience, but it is one I wouldn’t want to repeat. It helped shape who I am to this day, and that is a strong, moral, hard-working, intelligent, and creative person who is not afraid of trying something new to this day. I am self-confident about my skills and my abilities. I’ve had to face many challenges during my life, but here I am, still intact and ready to face anything life has to offer me. In other words, What doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger comes from an aphorism of the 19th-century German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche. It is generally used as an affirmation of resilience.

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AND THEY’RE OFF

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As far back as I remember in my childhood, I recall my father talking about the Garden State Race Track in Cherry Hill, New Jersey. My father was a man who liked to gamble, play cards and bet on the horses. For years he bought lottery tickets. He even bought 55O cards from the Catholic Church. On one occasion, my mother and my father celebrated their fiftieth wedding anniversary, and they spent a weekend at a hotel on the Boardwalk in Atlantic City. My father played the slots and played cards. The trip was a wedding anniversary gift for my parents from my siblings and me. It was the first time my mother actually had a vacation of any sort.

I recall my father calling his bookie on our kitchen phone and placing bets. And occasionally, my father would bring my mother and me with him when he drove into Philly at night to place a bet directly with his bookie. For my mother and myself, it was an outing to the city. As we rarely went anywhere out of town, let alone visiting Philadelphia.  My father- 1960's

But one of the most outstanding memories I have is of my father and the Garden State Race Track, which was located in Cherry Hill, New Jersey—a town next to Maple Shade, New Jersey, where I grew up. My father won a photography contest through the local newspaper, the Courier Post. He took two photographs of a race at the Garden State Track. One was a panoramic image of the crowd watching the horses take off, shouting and screaming and jumping up and down. The second shot was of that same crowd looking in the opposite direction tearing up their tickets and throwing them in the air, and then slowly floating down to the grounds if they lost their bets. My father submitted these pictures, and they appeared on the front page of the Courier Post, and he won prize money.

I don’t know how much money my dad won. But it was probably more money than he ever had in his pocket at any one time. And so my father invited all my siblings, including myself, to go out to dinner at a restaurant that my sister-in-law’s brother owned. It was the one and only time that we all went out to dinner together with my parents. And it is one of my best and fondest memories of my family together and laughing and enjoying our time together as a family.

The Garden State track spurred a lot of activity and entertainment-oriented growth in Cherry Hill. In addition to the Garden State Track, a man whose name was Mori developed the Race Tack. He built the Cherry Hill Inn and the Cherry Hill FarmLogdge, and then finally, the Cherry Hill Shopping Center. Not to mention the fabulous and luxurious Rickshaw Inn on the opposite side of the Garden State Park Race Track. And eventually, The Latin Casino, where stars such as Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, and Liberace appeared to entertain the locals near and far. 

And addition, I took an adult night class at Cherry Hill High School, and it was being taught by none other than Jack Engelhard, the writer. He is known for his love of horse racing at the Cherry Hill Race Track and for writing books such as The Horseman, which became almost automatically a best seller, Indecent Proposal, and many more. It was his night class that inspired me to continue writing and growing as a writer. He often spoke of his love of horse races and the Garden State Track. And I have been doing just that. I have written a book and over three hundred short stories. You can find these stories at:https://susanaculver.com.

And then, I was offered an opportunity to show some of my Art Work at the Garden State Track, and I jumped at the chance. You can see one of my more popular artworks, a drawing illustrated in this blog. It is called “The Race.”.

The Race

So, as you can see, my father’s love of Horse Racing and gambling has been an inspiration of sorts. Although I had never been a gambler at heart before I moved to North Carolina, I hit the gambling machines at Trump Casino in Atlantic and took home $900.00 right out of his {Trump’s} pocket, you could say. So, when you play, you win some, you lose some. But you just got to know when it’s time to fold up those cards and hit the road. At the same time, you have more than lint in your pockets.

And maybe sometime in the future, before my time runs out, I’ll find my way back to Cherry Hill and revisit my father’s favorite place on the planet. Although it has changed and evolved over time since my Dad passed away, he probably wouldn’t recognize it. So, maybe it’s better to keep those memories safe and hidden away. I will always treasure those memories of my father and what an interesting and complex man he was. He was a voracious reader on every subject, including Eastern religions, although he never went to church.

My father inspired me with his example to continue to learn and grow and be creative. In fact, his lifelong example of his thirst for knowledge inspired me to go to college when I was thirty-six. I applied to all the art schools in the Philadelphia area and was accepted at all of them. I chose to attend Temple University, Tyler School of Art. And I graduated at forty in the top ten percent of Temple’s graduating class. It was one of the best experiences I ever had and one that I am immensely proud of. And I want to thank my father for his example of continuing to grow and learn throughout my life.

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COMING OF RETIREMENT AGE AS A BABY BOOMER

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I have spent the last seven years since I retired reflecting on my life and experiences. And how those experiences have influenced the person I have become. I believe my parents had the most effect on the development of my personality.

My father worked hard his entire adult life as the Head Dispatcher for SEPTA for over forty years to provide for our family. He was strict and had high standards. He expected his children to achieve. He also had a short fuse, and woe be the person who behaved in a way that he disapproved of. My mother was a kind and loving person who never said anything hurtful to anyone in her life. At times she worked outside of our home, cleaning other people’s houses and cleaning the public school, and occasionally she did ironing for other people.

     When I was attending St. Mary of the Angel’s Academy, she worked in the employee’s kitchen at Wanamaker’s Department Store to help offset the cost of the tuition. She was in her early sixties at the time. She was a deeply devout woman and went to Mass every day of her life.

St. Mary of the Angels Academy

Every afternoon she could be found saying the rosary in her bedroom.

I was born into a family of four children, and I have a fraternal twin. Having six children was not an unusual size family when I was born in 1951. I had friends who had eleven children in their families. Since there was no reliable form of birth control at the time. And the Catholic church frowned on birth control.

I grew up two houses down from Our Lady of Perpetual Help Church and elementary school. I attended twelve years of Catholic School and eight years at OLPH Parochial school. And then four years at St. Mary of the Angels Academy. Which was an all-girl school located in Haddonfield, New Jersey.

For those of you who are not familiar with the Baby Boomer Generation, I have noticed over the years that many of us share similar characteristics. Characteristics were no doubt modeled by our parents. We have a strong and focused work ethic. We worked hard for everything we achieved, and it was not handed to us. We are not afraid of challenges.

     And even now, those of us who are retired engage in volunteer work. Before I retired, I took a class to learn how to teach English as a second language to people who migrated to the USA and spoke limited English. In addition, I taught Basic Skills to people who didn’t have the opportunity to finish high school and wanted to get a GED so that they were able to get better-paying jobs.

The Boomers learned how to be self-reliant and independent and have strong work ethics. We are self-reliant and confident and are not afraid to challenge any practices in our workplace. We had to learn to be competitive in our search for employment since there were so many people in our generation and, therefore, competition for employment in the workplace.

For those of us who wanted to attend college but whose families could not afford to send us, we set goals to do so outside the norm—for instance, going to junior college and going to school over time to earn college degrees. As for myself, I made the decision to attend college at the age of thirty-six. I had two children at home at the time. I applied to Temple Tyler School of Art and the Hussian School of Art, and Moore College of Art, which was a woman’s college. I was accepted at all the schools I where I applied.

Tyler School of Art

      I made the decision to attend Temple University in Philadelphia because they offered me a full scholarship for the first year based on my portfolio. I graduated from Temple University when I was forty years old. My children were ten and seven at the time. It was a challenge to balance my role as a parent, wife, and college student. I often only had two or three hours of sleep at night during the week. And during the summer, I used to babysit the daughter of a friend of mine. I graduated in the top ten percent of Temple University with a 4.0 average and two degrees, Fine Art and Art Education.

When I  graduated from Temple University, I found that there were precious few teaching positions in public schools for Art teachers since public schools in the early 1990s were cutting back their budgets in Art and Music. After applying to every school in the three surrounding counties for almost a year, I decided that I was going to start my own school. We decided to move to a bigger home that could accommodate teaching art. And we found it in Pitman, New Jersey. The house was over 4,000 square feet and used to be owned by a Doctor of neuropsychology. He and his wife had passed away over eight years before that. And as you can imagine, the house was in need of a great deal of work since the house had remained empty for all those years. And so, the first thing we had to do was have a new roof on the home. 

I spent many months working and painting the doctor’s three patients’ rooms and preparing them for classrooms to teach art. I spent many years teaching students that came to my classes, both children during the day and adults at night. I taught classes in drawing and painting and the basics of three-dimensional art.

     It was fulfilling and challenging work. We lived in that house for twenty-four years. We sold it when we were preparing to retire to North Carolina. It was extremely difficult to leave our home since we had put so many years living there and improving it for years. This  Included a garden that I created over many, many years. We ended up selling the house to a younger couple that had two children. The husband was a lawyer who set up his office in what had been my art studios. I have to admit the day that we went to the settlement was one of the most difficult days of my life. I still miss that house and all the friends and neighbors that we had come to love in our twenty-four years in Pitman.

I believe that my personality and the influences that surrounded me growing up in the Baby Generation gave me the confidence and willpower to meet challenges in my life that were often difficult. Over my lifetime, I moved from my parent’s home to my own apartment when I was twenty. I moved to Florida when I was twenty- two to be near the young man I fell in love with. And eventually, we were married and moved to Santa Barbara, California, where my husband attended Brooks Institute to study Photography. We moved back to New Jersey when he graduated and bought a small house in Pennsauken, NJ, where we lived for fourteen years and had our two children, who are now adults.

Animal Edventure Susan talking to Montana a cocatoo

Animal Edventure Susan talking to Montana, a cockatoo.

And now here I am in North Carolina, where we moved to at retirement. And we didn’t know a soul here but made our home here all the same. I volunteered as a Guardian Ad Litem in the Smithfield Court House, representing at-risk children. And for the past seven years going on eight years, I have been volunteering at an animal sanctuary called Animal Edventure, where I have taken care of Macaws, Parrots, and Pheasants. I’m still going strong and don’t have any plans to stop at any time in the near future. I almost forgot to mention that I created WRITE ON, my writer’s blog on the internet, and have been writing and publishing a new story every week going on six years.

I don’t know what else I may do in the future but have no doubt I will continue to create and grow for the remainder of my life, for however long that may be. I will keep on, keeping on. Have no doubt—Susan A. Culver, artist, and writer.

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MY PARENTS WERE THE GREATEST INFLUENCE ON WHO I AM TO THIS DAY

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I take after my father in many ways. My father would squeeze a nickel until the buffalo shit. I kid you not. Now don’t get me wrong, we never went without our basic needs met. We ate well, we got new shoes every year, or whenever we outgrew the shoes we were wearing. The four youngest children in my family, which included myself, all attended Catholic School through high school.

My father worked for over forty years at SEPTA, which is the South Eastern Pennsylvania Transportation Company. He was the head dispatcher in charge of scheduling buses, trolleys, and drivers. As a child, of course, I didn’t realize the responsibility of my father’s job. I just knew that I didn’t see him every day, depending on the shift he worked. For most of my childhood, he worked on the second or third shift. And therefore, he was often asleep when I arrived home from school, and we weren’t allowed to make any noise. Because we would wake him up, and woe was he or she that woke my father up.

In addition, my father had an active personal life outside of his job and home. He spent time at the Cherry Hill Race track, following and betting on the horses. He also played cards for money. He had friends that my mother and siblings and I had never met.

He was also a highly creative man. When I was a child, he had a workshop in our basement complete with power tools from drills and routers, planers, jigsaws, etc., etc. Our cellar was kept in pristine order at all times. My father was extremely orderly and neat. The floors and walls, and ceiling in the basement were painted white. It was so clean you could eat off the floor. He had a desk and a typewriter down there. And eventually, he added a dark room because he became interested in photography. In fact, once he won a photography contest that the Courier-post (our local Jersey paper) was running. And he won a sum of money that allowed him to take our whole family out to dinner—something we had never done before.

One year my father decided to build a fence in our front yard, and he made the front section which tuned out beautifully, but I guess he lost momentum or interest because he never finished the side sections.

Mom sitting at the kitchen table,

My father had a unique view of the world, and because of that, the things he created in the basement were one of a kind. He made a glass fireplace in our living room which was lit from within with Christmas lights. And instead of a fire burning in the fireplace, there was a mirror. And we had a chandelier hanging over our kitchen table that was a wagon wheel that he attached lights that he had purchased at the Pennsauken Mart. The Pennsauken Mart was a precursor to a Mall in that there was a large building that held many different stores within it. Oh, the treasures he found at the Mart! My father was an old fashion man in some ways since he was born in 1911.   Occasionally he took me with him to the Pennsauken Mart, and I would meet some of the people that worked there whom he had befriended over the years. One of those people owned a fruits and vegetable store. And my father referred to him as the Chinaman, as if that was his name. And my father had been going to this man’s store for years.

My father liked to garden as well. He built an arbor over our front step and planted climbing red roses that grew over it throughout my whole childhood. He also planted a Lilac bush next to the front sidewalk that emitted a glorious aroma all Spring and Summer Long. At one time, he planted a rose garden in the backyard. And it was gorgeous. But, at some point, my father decided he no longer wanted roses in the backyard and mowed them all down. My mother was heartbroken. He never told her he was cutting them down. He also cut down the enormous Willow Tree we had without any warning. I remember how much I used to love to sit under that tree in the summer and read. I never understood what forces drove my father to do some of the things he did or some of the things he said to people.

House where I grew up

My father was a voracious reader as well, he was not a religious man, but he was fascinated by Eastern religions like Buddhism and Confucianism, and he studied them for years. The peculiar thing was that he never attended church or Mass even though we lived two houses down from Our Lady of Perpetual Help Church. And my mother used to go to Mass every morning. He did, however, often go to the church or rectory if they needed anything repaired. He was a complex person. I often wanted to ask him if he was an atheist. But I never did because my father did not like anyone to ask him personal questions.

As I grew older, my father started sharing some of his childhood experiences and his early adulthood with me. My father’s father died when he was quite young, and his mother struggled to survive. She ended up placing my father at Girard College, where he lived and was educated until he was sixteen. His mother was allowed to visit him once a year. At that time, Girard College was a school for young boys who had lost their fathers. I can not say how this experience of growing up in an orphanage shaped my father, not to mention losing his own father at such a young age.

Upon reflecting on my father over my lifetime, I realized that although the circumstances of our lives were different, I had developed many of the same traits as he displayed over his lifetime. I am a highly creative person who enjoyed making things from a young age. I loved to draw and make things from found materials. I like to garden, and once I learned to read in first grade, the Maple Shade library became a favorite haunt of mine. All the librarians knew my name since I came there so often that I wore out my library card. My ability to make things from bits of random things was certainly a talent that I derived either by watching my father or an inherited trait.

However, the trait that I share to this day is that I never waste anything. I use everything up. I use my creativity to create art or sew clothes, and my great love of reading inspired me to start writing stories, both fiction, and memoirs. It goes without saying that my desire to treat all people equally, my empathy for all people, and my desire to help people wherever and whenever I can from my dear mother, who never had a hateful thought in her entire life. She was the kindest, most hard-working person I ever knew.Childhood Home

I don’t know how many years lie ahead of me, but I hope I will not waste a single moment of it. My plan is to keep going without taking a breath and continue to do good in the world. And to continue writing, painting, and making things. And without a doubt love animals that have always given me love, acceptance, and companionship throughout my life.

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